


Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Selfishness

by Vivian Moon (vivian_moon)



Category: Strangers With Candy
Genre: M/M, Post-Finale, Terrible People Being Terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivian_moon/pseuds/Vivian%20Moon
Summary: Chuck and Geoffrey discover that sometimes, if you don't try at all, you still get what you want and need.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edna_blackadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/gifts).



Chuck Noblet had hit his limit.

"Goddammit, Geoffrey, I can't take this anymore!" he cried as Geoffrey returned to the filthy squat that Jerri had found for the four of them. "Watching you go out there to sell your body - your sinfully rock-hard, sculpted body - while I slave away at home, not knowing if you'll come home covered in bruises or raddled with disease, if you're out there selling that pert little ass to every low-down dirty junkie like a rotten two-bit _whore_..." He turned his head away as he choked back a sob. "This has been the worst two hours of my life!"

"But think about how bad your miserable life is for _me_ ," Geoffrey huffed, fussing with the neckline of his loose leopard-print blouse. "This lipstick doesn't complement my complexion, Chuck! I look _pale_. I can't be seen on a street corner like this! I had to spend an hour at the tanning salon trying to restore my radiant skin-tone."

"Oh, great, so now you've spent the last of our money too?" he demanded. "We'll be forced to-" Wait, what was the next step down from being homeless junkie whores? "We'll be forced to _go back to teaching_."

"I miss teaching, Chuck!" Geoffrey retorted. His gaze turned wistful. "I miss... the happy little smiles on the children's faces as I showed them the joy of being around me... I miss educating them about me... I miss the sense of pride when one of them gave the correct answer on a pop quiz about my life."

"It's too late, Geoffrey," Chuck said, clutching the lapels of his open shirt and staring into his eyes. "We're fugitives from the law, cut loose from the world of honour and decency. We'll have to fight like dirty rats, our backs against the wall - take on any challenge, no matter how foul, how degrading..."

The door of the squat banged open and Jerri staggered in wearing ripped fishnets, her shoes in her hand. "Whew, I'm about dank as a flooded basement down in _my_ flooded basement, if you know what I mean," she said, flapping the front of her already far too low-cut top. She dropped down to sit on the floor with her legs spread and sprawled back in ungainly fashion to start tugging off the fishnets. "All right, now which one of you boys is gonna help me apply this ointment?"

Geoffrey shrieked in horror, and they both recoiled.

"On seconds thoughts, we could go and see if we can hide out in the workroom at my place," Chuck said.

#

As they approached the house under cover of darkness, Chuck remembered in a sudden fit of paranoia that he was married. He pressed down on Geoffrey's shoulders to force him into the bushes. "Get down!" he said, glancing around wildly. At least the Blank property opposite was dark, a FOR SALE sign standing out on the lawn.

"Dammit, Chuck, can't you even wait until we get into the house?" Geoffrey whined. "It's cold out here!" But he was already pawing for the fastening of Chuck's pants.

Chuck decided it was easier to go with the flow than bother trying to explain the misunderstanding.

Several furtive and delightfully filthy minutes later he straightened up again and neatened his clothes. "Now stay here," he hissed. "I'll see if the coast is clear to sneak you in."

He opened the door to an atmosphere of stifling, airless silence, so naturally he assumed his wife was home. After making sure the downstairs rooms were empty, he slipped around to the back to let Geoffrey in through their regular window, and helped him down into the room with a supportive hand on his ass.

"I want a shower, Chuck," Geoffrey said, glaring at him. "I spent all day looking for a street corner with a thriving arts and crafts scene where my body would be properly appreciated. I had to take a bus, Chuck, a bus! I can still smell those people!"

"You can't take a shower here, my wife will hear you," he whispered back hotly.

"Then just I'll have to share yours!" Geoffrey retorted, nose to nose with him.

Chuck considered. "Huh. That works."

They were about to steal out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom when Geoffrey spotted something on the countertop. "Wait, there's a note!" He picked it up. "It's from Claire."

Chuck squinted at him in confusion. "Who?"

"Your wife," Geoffrey reminded him.

"Oh. Right." They did most of their communication by note; it saved the pain of talking to each other. "What does it say?" If he was lucky, she'd gone out for the night. If he was unlucky, she'd left him dinner.

Geoffrey squinted, no doubt foxed by his wife's terrible handwriting. "It says, 'I've had enough. I'm leaving, you fu-' Oh, wait." He peered closer. "'I'm leaving you, Chuck.'"

"She's leaving me?" Chuck staggered and collapsed against the wall. "But that means I'll be... _divorced_ ," he breathed in horror. And they all knew what the people of Flatpoint thought of the divorced. It was nearly as bad as what they thought of strangers, tourists, foreigners, hobos, the unemployed, alcoholics, teetotallers, teenagers, old people, clowns, and jugglers.

Of course, it was only logical to hate and fear all of those groups of people. Especially jugglers.

But Chuck had done nothing to deserve this. "How could she do this to me?" he wailed. He'd fulfilled all his husbandly duties - they'd even had sex as recently as four months ago. What more could she possibly expect?

"Chuck, your marriage was never just about your needs," Geoffrey said earnestly. "It was also about _my_ needs."

"God _dammit!_ " Chuck said, thumping his fist on the wall. "Just when I needed _her_ to support _me_ for a change!" All those years he'd slaved away to bring a paycheck home to her, and she couldn't even do the same for him after he'd blown up a school and run away to become a junkie whore. He took his glasses off, shaking his head in sombre disbelief. "I just thank God that we never had any children."

"What about Seamus?" Geoffrey said.

Chuck blinked. "Oh. Him." He snatched up the note. "Yeah, she's taken him too - just as well, the sticky-fingered little parasite. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed around here. I need someone who's going to pay their way - and my way! I'll have to take on..." he slowed and turned to stare at Geoffrey, "...a manly heterosexual roommate to help me pay the bills."

"Ooh!" Geoffrey's eyes lit up. "Can we play manly heterosexual roommates getting drunk and horny on the couch together?"

Chuck ran for the stairs. "You get the beer, I'll get the sports jerseys!"

#

Chuck was wakened from a pleasant if rather sticky slumber by the sound of a faint tapping noise.

"Mm... five more minutes, Chuck," Geoffrey said in sleepy protest, his head resting against Chuck's bare shoulder. Chuck jumped up in a panic as he realised that the two of them had fallen asleep together on the couch in his front room. He scrambled to pull his sports jersey back on.

"Geoffrey! Get up! We have to-" He broke off as he realised they didn't have to do anything. His wife wasn't coming back to catch them in the act or ask him why he hadn't come to bed. They no longer had jobs to worry about arriving at together. He was separated from his wife and unemployed, and it was _great_. "Never mind. Go back to sleep," he said.

That was when the tapping sound came again, and he realised it was coming from the side window.

"That must be a happy little bluebird tapping at your window to bring you the joy of the season!" Geoffrey chirped. "I've seen those cartoons. They do it all the time." He hurried over to open the curtains - and screamed.

Outside the window, Principal Blackman screamed back.

Chuck hastened to the door to let him in.

"Goddammit, it's _hard_ out there for a pimp," Blackman said as he sidled in around the door. He looked around the room warily. "I assume you two were so exhausted you just fell asleep here," he said. "Nice sports jerseys. They look positively manly."

"Principal Blackman, I don't _wanna_ go back to selling my body on the streets," Geoffrey said passionately. "I may be just a naive small-town girl, but I have _dreams_. I know that I was meant for something more than this cheap, sordid life."

"It's too late, Geoffrey!" Chuck said. "We can't go back! I can't survive in prison!"

"It's all right," said Principal Blackman. "I have a plan. I've joined a roving gang of substitute teachers. Once I've passed their gruelling initiation rituals, I'm going to lead them in a coup against the principal of Flatpoint South and take his students for my own. I've already smoked the ritual crack pipe. Now I have to recruit two new teachers to the gang." He pulled out two fake passports and handed them to Chuck.

"I've used what was left over from the school budget to acquire you both false identities," he said. "Unfortunately, most of it was spent on lawyers, hookers, and booze, so all I could afford was to have moustaches drawn on your photos and give your names French accents. You are now Messieurs Charles Noblé and Geoffrey Jellineque." He fixed them both with a stern look. "To keep up the charade you'll have to be lazy, rude, and suspiciously physically affectionate with each other. You'll look like a couple of complete whoopsies, but that's the French for you."

"You realise what this means, Chuck?" Geoffrey said, turning to him in awe. "I can finally make it as an artist! Everyone knows that painters with French accents are extra authentic."

It dawned on Chuck with slow wonder that his heart's greatest desire was also within his grasp. "And I can grow a moustache!" He stroked his hand dreamily over his upper lip.

Principal Blackman nodded decisively. "Good. And now," he drew out a switchblade. "I have to kill a pig!" He ran off with an ululating yell.

Geoffrey turned back towards Chuck. "Oh, Chuck," he said, clasping his hands together. "It's everything we ever wanted for me!"

And even life as a teacher was better than living in a squat with - Chuck shuddered - Jerri. He moved to close the door. "I guess this means we won't be slapped in cuffs and dragged off to face punishment for our crimes after all," he said.

They looked at each other.

"I could find some handcuffs," Geoffrey said.


End file.
